


Dance

by orphan_account



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: ! - Freeform, Dancing, Fluff, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, also the new dva short so, but i needed a distraction from some bad shit and this is good for me, dad Jesse McCree, honestly..................... an excuse to write smth fluffy without editing, i fucking wrote joel and ellie, i honestly am tired of dad 76 bc there's so much of it so, i mean jesse and hana oops, not edited, phantom limb - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 18:11:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15779388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Hana is having trouble relaxing after her last mission. McCree has been there before.





	Dance

**Author's Note:**

> it might be really OOC, but i really like Dad McCree and i love Hana!! but also i was sad and i love both of those characters and uuh Frank Sinatra

“Hey, sweetpea,” Hana turned from where she was pacing a hole into the floor of the training rooms. McCree was still dressed from the day, whereas Hana still had her gym clothes on. She hasn’t slept, that much is obvious. She sets her weapon down on the counter, checking and rechecking the safety. “You look right tired.” He draws, rolling the cigarillo from one corner of his mouth to the other as he heads over to her. The clicking of his spurs is loud in her ears, sensitive without the earmuffs. “I have not been able to sleep.” Hana responds simply, looking down at her hands, still covered with gunpowder and dirt and blood.

McCree pulls a handkerchief from his front jeans pocket, prosthetic hand cold while the real cleans her up. The brim of his hat hides his eyes. She studies the worn hat upon the gunslinger’s head. She spots four patches before drifting down to his hair, which he refuses to cut, then to his freshly cleaned up beard, a small hickey on his neck under the flannel collar, the top buttons -- “Hey,” He says quietly, tilting her head up. Hana lets out a breath. “Ain’t no reason to go observin’ li’l ‘ol me. I’m gonna help you get through this, okay?” She nods and sets her hands back at her sides as he tucks the dirty rag into his pocket.

Jesse takes her to the gym, but does not change into a proper sparring outfit, nor does he set out mats for her to work her frustration, exhaustion, stuck mindset, out on. He instead takes her to the small observing table and unbuttons his flannel. She remains silent as he takes off the overshirt and pulls his scarred arms out. His white t-shirt stretches pathetically across his chest, barely holding on, looking worse when the cowboy shifts his muscles. McCree sets his prosthetic on the table and, with his real hand, brings one of her palms to it. “Sometimes I still feel like this is happenin’,” He says, letting her feel across the grooves and ridges that make up the replacement. “Like I’m still stuck in London’n omnics are breathin’ down my neck. My heart races, then suddenly I feel like my fingers are movin’. Not these fingers, but some other ones. Ones I can’t see.”

He props his head on his fist, the one of flesh. “Terrible things can happen in the line, and they can carry on with you. Now, normally,” He rolls the arm over to where the worst of the scarring is. His residual limb looks horrible underneath it, Hana knows. “I’d go to Hanzo when I’m like this. But, well,” He shrugs and pulls his hand back to hold one of hers. “Hanzo’s gone with your own partner on that mission. When I heard you was down here, I thought I’d come show you what to do when they’re gone.”

Hana’s eyebrows furrow in and she clenches her fists on the table. “I don’t want to depend on Lucio everytime I get like this.” She says quietly. McCree places his much larger hands over hers, flattening his rough palms down to stop her. “I know, sweetpea. It’s so hard to rely on other people. But I’ve done a lot of relyin’ only on myself. Don’t really help much, ‘specially when your body aches where the worst parts of your past happened. My arm, my back..” Hana sighs. “My leg and the back of my neck, usually, but.. This spot in my abdomen, that close call..”

McCree nods, letting quiet settle between them for a moment. “When your PTSD gets the better of you, or your body hurts, or you can’t stop bein’ on mission mode, you gotta find an outlet. And shootin’ yer gun ain’t gunna fix that. Just keeps you on mission mode, keeps yer body all up’n goin’. So, if Lucio’s here, you go to him, right?” Hana nods. “Okay, and if he’s gone?” She doesn’t answer for awhile.

“I don’t know,” She mumbles. “Sometimes Morrison is awake, and he.. he really gets it.” McCree hums. “Yeah, he does. But sometimes y’don’t need comfortable silence, y’need noise. The good type.” He slips out of the chair and holds the prosthetic out for Hana to take. She slowly placed her hand in his, face drawn up and body stiff. McCree grinned wide, cigarillo abandoned on the table. “Athena, play New York New York for me?” He asked politely. The AI responded immediately. “Of course, Agent McCree. Now playing Frank Sinatra.”

The band music began with an upswing, and Jesse began leading them in a steady dance, boots jingling in perfect time with the beat. Hana stumbled slightly, unfamiliar but guided through it swiftly. “Sometimes,” He began with a grin consuming his face, “You gotta dance. Ana taught me how to dance. Then taught me how to use it proper.” He holds his arm out to spin Hana, causing her to break down and laugh softly.

“Who knew such an old timer had moves?” She asks slowly, voice beginning to lighten as the music picked up. The cowboy laughed, hips swinging and belt buckle shining in the fluorescent lights. Hana laughed back, catching onto the beat and holding her hand out for him to spin under her arm. McCree’s laughter grew louder as he had to hunch over to just barely make it, before he could no longer help himself and picked the pilot up. Hana snorted and allowed it, enjoying the swaying. She felt tense muscles slowly loosen, her hands itching less and the twitching in her muscles stopping,  _ finally _ stopping.

Hana allowed herself to be set back onto her feet as the song swapped over, a slower and calmer beat. “How old are these songs anyway?” She asked as Athena announced the song, ‘Strangers in The Night’. McCree shrugged one large shoulder, slowly turning them in a circle. “Does it matter?” She rolled her eyes. “I bet you were around when they came out.” She prodded again, causing the cowboy to guffaw loudly. “Hey now, little lady, I think you’re forgettin’ how old Dad: 76 is,” He said. Hana belted out a loud laugh, head rolling back as she was dipped. “He probably helped write the songs.”

McCree snorted and let them dance just close enough to allow Hana to attempt to dip the much, much larger agent. McCree set his weight back onto one heeled boot, hat almost dropping off his head. He was almost completely dropped with how hard he laughed, coming back up dizzy. “We can binge watch something after this?” She asked as soon as her arms stopped shaking, this time not from overexertion, no, but from trying to hold the cowboy up. He nodded, smile still frozen in place. “‘Course. You can translate when the subtitles get all awkward again.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! im on tumblr as sweetmint-writes.


End file.
